


Cervelles Au Beurre Noir

by ofMenandStags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Painplay, Rough Sex, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofMenandStags/pseuds/ofMenandStags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a fill I wrote for the following prompt: </p>
<p>"Hannibal/Will - Pain kink, public.<br/>Will is kidnapped by someone (not Hannibal) and is tortured in front of others (Jack, Alana, Hannibal..?), who are forced to watch but cannot do anything. However, the kidnapper did not expect Will to get off on pain.</p>
<p>Please no sexual interest in Will from the kidnapper, but Hannibal certainly has interest."<br/>(http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2246.html?thread=3132870#cmt3132870)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cervelles Au Beurre Noir

**Author's Note:**

> This story features **torture and dubcon.**
> 
> I would also like to note, as it comes up, _Bopis_ is a Filipino dish made of pork lunges and heart, sauteed in tomatoes, chilies and onions. 
> 
> Bon Appetite!

  
****

#  Cervelles Au Beurre Noir 

****

The first thing Will noticed was the darkness that engulfed his vision. His lashes fluttered against the cloth, like flies buzzing against a screen, erratic and full of energy. The second thing he noticed was the tight ring of metal engulfing each of his wrists. He lifted his right hand a few inches before the left was sharply pulled up after it. He was handcuffed and blind folded. 

_‘The last time I looked it was 10:37pm. I was leaving the academy, heading home. I don’t know where I am.”_

The slam of a heavy metal door jolted Will from his weak attempts at grounding himself. He was scared, and alone with only the company of advancing shoe heels on concrete keeping him in the present moment.

_Click, click, click, click._

The shoes came to a halt a few feet from Will. When the door opened and closed, these shoes brought with them cold air from the autumn night. It sunk into his skin and spread over his body like an infection. He became increasingly aware he was naked except for his underpants. Even his socks were gone.

“Are you awake then?” a voice came out from the darkness in front of him and coiled around the room. 

Will became increasingly aware of his position as this voice dragged him out of the dark, comfortable places of his mind, few they were. He was kneeling on the floor. Will was unsure why he continued to kneel there, with his hands in front of him, he could just get up, but his legs wouldn’t move, having gone numb from being there so long. If he tried to stand now he’d surely crumple to the ground. He tried to flex his toes, but was not sure if he was successful. 

“I asked if you were awake.” The voice was followed by a sharp pain striking his left cheek. Will grit his teeth and let off a soft cry of poorly disguised agony, his eyes screwed tight beneath the black cloth.

“Good. I need your help...” the words were in his left ear now, soft breath dancing across his skin. “...There’s someone I want to speak to.” 

\-----------

“Sir, somethings happening.” The agent who showed up at Jack’s door had a look on her face Jack was accustomed to. The face of fear, and confusion mixed with rage. The look only those who faced meaningless death on a regular basis could know and understand. 

He was out of his chair in an instant when the agent backed out of the door frame a step, her worried look asking him to follow her. He left the files he’d been reviewing strewn about on his desk, as if he was hoping they would make sense of themselves by the time he got back. 

He followed the Agent, “What is it Winters?” she didn’t answer him, she only muttered the words ‘you’ll see…’ softly under her breath as they walked briskly down the hall. They entered into one of the building’s small conference rooms. A grand table stood in the middle, chairs lining it’s edge. There were no windows here and the lights were dimmed low, the room instead illuminated by the deep orange and red glow of the large screen on the wall. It’s lights outlined Alana’s face as she turned to look at him from the chair she’d been sitting in. Hannibal was also there, standing next to the table, his eyes fixated on the screen.

“What is this?” Jacks growled, gesturing at the image on the screen. “Leave.” he turned and barked at Agent Winters. Her body flinched, then she hesitated, then she left.

“It came on while I was having a discussion with Dr. Lecter.” whispered Alana softly, looking back at the screen. 

“We determined it would be best to not try to turn it off.” Hannibal stated mildly, like he was not staring at the screen but out a window, discussing the clouds as they rolled in.

“Yeah, I can see why you’d come to that conclusion. Are we recording this?” Jack walked up next to Alana, staring at the video like it was poisonous, a snake coiled at the ready, not to be trusted not to lunge and bite.

“From the second it came on.” Alana nodded. She’d also been taking notes, though there was little written down.

“It’s been ten minutes and I’m not going to wait any longer so I hope i’ve got everyone’s attention now.” No one in the room had spoken. Instead the deep, sickly sweet voice seeped out from the speakers. 

The room on the screen was dark, a light had been aimed at the body in the wooden chair. An unflattering light, that cast it’s orange hue upon brown curls flattened with sweat and black cloth, and cast long shadows upon the floor. The concrete walls and floor were stained with these creeping shadows and dirt. The voice seeped from behind the camera. All eyes were on Will as he sat there in the wooden chair.

\-----------

The handcuffs were removed when a large hand grabbed him by the neck and threw him into a chair with enough force that his head knocked against the cold stone wall and the black cloth became riddled with bright stars. 

His temporary deliriousness rendered him useless as his hands were freed of the cuffs and then quickly lashed to the wooden arms of the chair with tight, rough rope.

“Let’s begin shall we?” The man’s voice was theatrical now, louder, bolder. The beginning, of what ever this was, was signified by the soft beep as the camera began to record. Will heard it as the ringing in his head subsided. “Now we are going to play, a little game of sorts.” The voice paused. “The only way for you to win Graham, is for your little friends at the Agency to find you, before I kill you. That sounds like a good game, doesn’t it? A fair game.” There was another pause as the man’s voice cut off sharply. Will tried to focus on his breathing. 

_‘Just breath. Just stay calm. Jack’s going to find me. I’m going to be ok. Just breath.’_

“But first, we need to give the players time to arrive.”

The next ten minutes felt like the last of days, dragging out across all of time for Will as he sat there in the wooden chair, the ropes digging red marks into his wrists. It was all he could do to not scream. Because what else was there to do? He didn’t feel like crying. He felt angry and confused. 

“It’s been ten minutes and I’m not going to wait any longer so I hope i’ve got everyone’s attention now.” The voice returned. What Jack, Alana and Hannibal saw then was a figure moving out from behind the camera. Adorned in black clothes, wearing black pants and a mask. It was the mask “Tragedy” with it’s sad downturned mouth and slanted eyes. 

“Incase anyone missed the rules, i’ll repeat them. To keep the game fair. You,” he pointed at the camera, “win if you can find dear Will Graham before I kill him. I win if I get to...finish my performance.” There was a smile behind those words, and sick, happy eyes. 

\-----------

That was all it took for Jack to call Winters back into the room. He ordered her to get their agents tracking the signal of the video, in hopes of pinpointing Will’s location. Jack spared Hannibal a glance. While Alana had been, insistently, voicing her concern, the doctor had remained quiet and watchful, his jaw set and his eyes locked on the figure on the screen.

\-----------

“Consider this my resume, will you?” the man smiled behind the mask. Will didn’t care who this man was flirting with, all he cared about right now was trying to figure out what to do about his situation. “We’d make a good team, _you_ and I,” the man spoke to the camera. 

The room came into stark view as the black blindfold was removed from Will’s face and the dark orange, overhanging lamp burnt his eyes. As the blotches of black faded from his vision he could see the camera. 

\-----------

He couldn’t stop himself from whispering, _‘“Please…”_ at the machine. Alana released upon Jack several harmful words, angry with him for putting Will into situations that painted a target on his back. Jack didn’t hear her. He was trying his best, he was confident he could find Will.

\-----------

Will stared into the eyes beneath the mask. He didn’t ask what the man wanted. He’d been inside enough killer’s minds to figure it out based upon his words so far. This man intended to hurt him, slowly, but with a deliberate, calculated, outcome. Still, his fear spiked when he saw the knife. It’s long blade glinting in the overhead light, flashing it’s teeth like an angry dog.

The man didn’t say anything as he traced the blade over Will’s cheek. It was a taunt. Will knew this man had a plan, that he’d meticulously designed this capture. He was not pondering his next move, he was building suspense for it. The man moved around to stand behind Will, the knife still dancing on his face, now the scene was set, designed to be seen perfectly by those watching.

“Shall we begin?” he purred into Will’s ear, the blade sliding down towards his left shoulder.

Will bit his lip in that moment. There was a sharp pain spreading through his body as the blade sunk deep into his flesh beneath his collar bone, and followed it like a template across his chest to the opposing side, blood spilling out like an overflowing cup. But the pain was also full off release. As the blood left his body, he felt a calmness spread over his mind.

Nothing major was cut. He didn’t loose much blood and the sharp pain receded, leaving a quiet silence in his mind. The first silence he’d heard in a long time. His mind felt clear, and awakened.

The next cut ran down the center of his chest to his navel. Again it was a shallow slice, but enough to bleed Will’s body, which now resembled a cadaver. The silence remained as the pain once again faded, but this time he felt a heat spread through his mind as well. As the blade slowly inserted itself into his skin and cleared the voices of victims and criminals from his mind a new self awareness crept in to fill the emptiness.

\-----------

The blade was gone then, as was the man. But he returned again with a whip. He cocked his head at the camera. Grinning behind the mask. Jack was working on the location. They’d moved into the main atrium of the agency. Jack was shouting orders at all the agents, urging them to track Graham down. Hannibal was perched on the edge of his chair, hands folded neatly in his lap, Alana sitting next to him. Hannibal was useless to Jack now, his eyes were transfixed on the thin curtain of blood slipping down Will’s chest.

He was also entranced by Will’s eyes. The eyes of someone entirely present yet completely out of the moment. Alana flinched when the whip cracked down on Will’s neck. Hannibal barely blinked, had he, he would have missed the way Will’s eyes slid shut, and his lips parted, as if he was silently screaming, but it came out as something far more beautiful.

\-----------

The pain was bad, but the peace was bliss. Every strike brought Will closer and closer to himself. As the whip and pain chased out the demons, his mind was quick to fill the holes. He could feel everything. From the cold stone beneath the soles of his feet, to the wetness on his chest, his own blood, to the rope roughly burning his wrists. To the warmth between his legs.

He’d never felt like this. The last time he’d felt even remotely like this he’d been mere inches away from Alana’s lips, in his dark living room, with the sound of animals in his mind. 

But this wasn’t that. He didn’t feel like he was going crazy now. He felt _still_. 

It was in that stillness that the pleasure began to form. A sharp crack, and the whip struck his left thigh and he felt a rush of pleasure spread to his groin. Each attack was carefully planned, painting Will’s body in red blooms to match the wash of blood across his shoulders and chest.

\-----------

Hannibal adjusted his posture slightly, sliding his hands together and setting them across his lap, carefully hiding his erection from any wandering eyes. He couldn’t help it, in fact he could barely contain himself as the sadistic part of his mind cried out in passion at every strike of the whip on Will’s pale skin.

It was easier now, to find the pleasure in what he was witnessing, as it obviously was for Will. It was possible for the untrained eye to miss, but Hannibal saw it right away. The damp patch forming on Will’s briefs, and soft tension pulling at the fabric, growing tighter with every land of the leather. 

The way Will was looking now certainly left Hannibal’s mind flexing. With half closed eyes, slipping shut with every strike, his jaw slack and slightly open, his glasses down on his nose, with damp hair clinging to his scalp.

The only thing Hannibal found distasteful was the fact that it was someone else causing Will to come apart like this. It wasn’t Hannibal’s hand undoing his precious mongoose, but that of another, inferior being. While there was no helping it now, as the agents around him scrambled to find Will’s location, Hannibal keenly added the death of this masked man to his agenda. 

\-----------

It was getting harder now to stay silent. Will thought of who might be watching him right now, and felt a series of mixed emotions. The pleasure was undeniable, and getting stronger with every strike, he could feel an uncomfortable tightness, and dampness against his cock now. He tried to lower his arousal, thinking of Jack who may be watching him right now. Alana would be disgusted with him. The others, what would they think. What if Hannibal was there….? Watching him with those grand eyes, with that stoic hair, in his well fitted suit. What would he think? Will let his mind wander as a strike landed against his bicep, this one hard enough to leave a welt on his skin. He though of that deep, exotic voice, calmly speaking his name, and those skilled surgeon’s hands, dancing upon his skin. 

It was then, as the whip landed against the open cut under his collar bone that he let off a sharp moan. That was what gave him away. The strikes stopped and the masked man stepped around in front of Will, glaring at him.

The man’s body blocked the camera, causing Hannibal to frown briefly. 

The masked man considered Will for a moment, then seemed to determine Will’s arousal was of no consequence. His design would still come together, because this wasn’t about Will, this was about the man on the other side of the camera. This was about courting the killer he knew was sitting there in the agency, watching him do his work. 

\-----------------------------

The beatings continue, taking on a flare for the dramatic. The man stands behind Will again, looking keenly at the camera. “Your time’s running out little Agents. I’ll give you ten more minutes.”

By ten minutes, he meant each of the fingers on Will’s hands. He starts with his right thumb and abruptly snaps it, dislocating it from the first joint. Will let’s out a cry that’s strange even to Hannibal’s ears. A sound halfway between release and a ferocious scream of agony. The man cocks his head at the camera, his smile on his voice. 

“One.”

Will’s arousal is fairly evident now, even with the shadow of his head cast over his lap, Hannibal has no trouble picking out the bulge trapped under his briefs, but no one else seems to have noticed. Hannibal hears parts of what Jack’s yelling, it seems they are getting closer to finding Will.

With every snap of Will’s fingers the man counts up. It’s when he gets to 5 that someone yells they have the location, and the scurrying of agents is replaced with determined order and Jake sweeps Hannibal up, a friendly face for Will, along with several FBI agents. Alana stays back to keep them updated on Will.

Hannibal can hear the countdown in his head, along with each of Will’s screams that precede it. His coat’s covering his own interest in Will’s situation, but by the time they climb into Jack’s car he’s pushed the arousal out of his mind and instead filled it with curiosity over whether they will get there in time.

The scene they arrive at is a small wooden barn out in the Wolftrap area. It seems almost ironic Will would get kidnapped so close to home.

The agent’s go in first, Jack follows them, while Hannibal skirts the back of the team, trailing them slowly. They go down a set of stairs and move through a large slaughter room, beef hanging from chains in the low ceiling creating interesting obstacles for the FBI agent’s to maneuver around. 

They get to the door and find it unlocked, that sickly orange light creeping out from behind the heavy steel door. The man’s gone, but Will’s there sitting in the chair, gasping softly in delicious pain. He’s been cut again, two long slices up each thigh, and the words “Next Time” are written on the cement wall, scrawled in sticky blood. 

The Agent’s spread out, some heading back up to the first level in search of the man. Jack is the one to cut Will free. There’s an ambulance out with the vehicles already, Alana must have made the call. Will looks up at them from under sweat soaked locks with diluted enthusiasm. As those eyes settle on Hannibal’s he can see all of Will, it’s not fear or pain in those eyes, or even gratitude (which seems a bit rude, Hannibal make’s note) but shame. 

Hannibal knows why. He can smell it in the air and see the damp patch in Will’s lap, but he doesn’t say anything. He just removes his own coat, no longer in need of it and wraps it around Will’s body trying to stop the shivering that’s creeping over that bruised skin. The blood will probably ruin the fabric. He’ll get another one. 

\-----------

Their sessions resume the following week. Will’s stitched up, and keeps reaching to itch his stitches, only to remember the cause and drop his hand idly back to his side as he walks around the room, spending only moments by the window, then leaning against a pillar, then in front of Hannibal’s desk, then back to the chair across from the Doctor, then up again to repeat the cycle of never ending movement, as if he’s afraid if he stop’s moving he’ll cease to exist. Which for Will’s mind, could be entirely true.

“Tell me about the masked man.” Says Hannibal. They haven’t talked about that night yet. In fact Hannibal is fairly certain Will only gave the report once and then refused to speak on the subject again, he wouldn’t even repeat it to Jack, if Alana is to be believed.

“He was… flirting with someone.” Will seems to consider his wording carefully as he comes to sit down in front of Hannibal again, leaning back in the seat, stationary for the moment. “Someone at the agency.”

“Maybe Jack Crawford? Or Alana Bloom?” Offers Hannibal. It’s hard not to just sit and smile and watch Will try to figure it out. Hannibal is not stupid, in fact he’s not even of mere average intelligence. Where other’s saw the words “Next Time” Hannibal saw his own name stamped and sealed with a kiss and a promise. It’s natural for other killers to idolize other killers. 

“No… no. He was targeting a very specific type of person.” Says Will shaking his head, going in to scratch his thigh only to, as expected, drop his hand into his lap halfway through.

“What kind of person?” prompts Hannibal.

“Someone like him, or to be more specific someone whose better than him, but someone he wants to be like. He’s seeking their approval. “ Will pauses, looking beyond Hannibal, at that bronze deer he moved over by the door after the incident with Tobias. Hannibal knows Will looks at it. He wonders what Will see’s when he looks at it, because it’s certainly not a bronze deer.

“After he turned the camera off, as he was leaving. He told me that he wasn’t done with me yet, he muttered about….” Will pauses, staring into the soul of that bronze deer. “...how he wanted to eat me but time had just run out.” Will says it quietly, whispers it and it crawls it’s way into Hannibal, sending a rush of pleasure wafting through his sadistic mind. Along with a bit of anger. Had this masked man succeeded in cutting Will up, Hannibal wouldn’t have slept till he’d done the same thing to his ‘fan’. Hannibal was going to be the one to kill Will, absolutely no one else was worthy of taking his life, let alone consuming his flesh. 

“Let’s talk about you Will. How did you feel?” Hannibal changed the direction of the conversation, plunging it deep into Will’s sensitive underbelly. He wants to hear Will say what he already knows.

“I…” Will’s breathing is shaking, his eyes dancing away from the deer and to the curtains, then to Hannibal’s hands, then to his feet. He shifts uncomfortably, and presses the palm of his hands to his thighs, against the stitches there. “My feelings weren’t…. conventional.” he says in broken parts.

There’s a long silence that fills the air between them, broken only for a moment by the sound of thunder rolling through the night sky beyond the curtains and windows of Hannibal’s home. Hannibal safe home. “You are safe here Will, tell me about your feelings.” He prompts tenderly, folding his hands upon his lap as he looks at Will with curious intrigue. 

Will’s hands, in contrast, tense and ball up on his legs, his eyes scouring the hardwood floor. He nervously pushes his glassed up his nose. “I felt…” he starts, in that sharp voice he adapts when he feels sick with himself. Hannibal knows this voice well. “...a certain kind of peace in that chair.” He hisses it. Self-loathing foaming at his mouth. He looks up towards Hannibal, but doesn’t make eye contact. “I felt like…” He trails off again, caught for a moment, unable to speak the words. “Like all the voices and killers and faces of sad dead people were chased out and my own mind filled in the holes they left behind.” He says it slowly like a bitter taste rolling off his tongue. His eyes drop away from Hannibal’s figure and to the curtains again, watching the new rain gently pound against the panes of glass.

“The pain gave you a release from your mind.” Hannibal- states simply. “It’s natural to have enjoyed the feeling of taking back your own headspace.”

“It was more than that…” says Will quietly. Then he closes his eyes tight, hiding from Hannibal’s gaze, as if he’s afraid he’ll find judgement there. “I liked it.” he says softly, shame brimming in his voice. 

“Pain is a common catalysis for pleasure, even arousal. Though few are willing to try it.” says Hannibal simply, like this conversation was about the thunderheads outside and not Will’s new-found torture fetish. 

His words don’t seem to relax Will, in fact he looks more rigid, like a ruler bent back, waiting to be released, waiting to explode. When Will doesn’t say anything Hannibal pushes. “Is there more Will?”

He shakes, a bit of fear, a bit of arousal creeping through Will’s body, the scents mingling in the air between them and filling Hannibal’s senses. “I still want it though… I haven’t felt like that…. so at ease, in so long…” He admits it with shaky breaths.

Hannibal lets his gaze rake over Will, who still has his eyes screwed shut. He stares at all the peeks of skin. He finds Will so attractive like this, sitting here, admitting to wanting to be tortured, to finding pleasure in it. Baring himself to Hannibal, and Hannibal feel’s proud, because it feels like Will, right here right now, is reflecting back to Hannibal all of the hard work he’s been putting into molding his mind over the past several months. 

Will then shakes his head furiously, a blush having crept over his cheeks. His eyes snap open and he gets up from the chair, pacing the room before settling against one of the pillars, his back to Hannibal. At any other time, it would have felt rude. 

But the Doctor only see’s an invitation tonight. He gets up quietly, straightening his jacket as he moves across the room to Will. The man turns to face him, but Hannibal keeps moving till only a couple feet are between them. He stares at Will in a caring way. 

“As I have said, this is a safe place Will. With your consent, we could,” Hannibal pauses as Will stars at him blankly. Actually stares at him, looking into Hannibal’s eyes with shock at his proposal. “Safely of course, attempt to clear your headspace once more.” He searches for approval from Will. He craves it. This close the hot, spicy scent of arousal is thick in his nose, driving his eyes to stare at Will’s neck. It would be so easy, to take this precious life away. 

\-----------------------------

Will’s eyes drop away from Hannibal’s quickly, avoiding the eye contact he fears. If he had looked now he would have seen only arousal in his psychiatrist’s eyes anyways, and that might have been more distracting than his own personal turmoil. He mulled over Hannibal’s words. If he’d been a smart man he would have quickly declined the offer, but he hesitated, and the moment came and went.

So Will stood there in his psychiatrist’s office, considering a very non-professional offer from said man. He closed his eyes again and the thoughts of murderer’s filled his mind, whispering about death and hatred. 

What he wouldn’t give to experience freedom from those voices once again. 

He wrapped his arms around himself, as he was prone to do when Will became stressed, nervously pushing his glasses up his nose, his eyes focused on Hannibal’s desk. 

“It would be safe…?” he asked quietly, flicking his gaze at Hannibal’s for a moment, seeing the steady calm in his eyes, masking potent arousal. Will didn’t look long enough to see Hannibal’s deeper desires.

\---

“In it’s entirely Will.” Said Hannibal. He moved away from Will, towards his desk where he shrugged off his jacket, placing it over the chair and rolled up the sleeves of his bespoken dress-shirt, obviously Will’s question had given away the fact that he was considering agreeing to this. 

Hannibal then walked around the front of the desk, leaning back on the edge, creating a contrasting image of formality posed casually again the sleek wooden desk, it’s glossy surface relecting the low light that filled the room. Will couldn’t help but look at him, setting and unsetting his jaw nervously. 

“How?” Will asked, not moving from his spot against the pillar. Hannibal stayed where he was as well.

“Simple. Such _relationships_ usually have a word, reserved to be the tool to bring the session to an end.” Said Hannibal, in that professional tone, his eyes glancing over towards the bronze stag, releasing the pressure of his gaze from Will. “However, I would suggest the color system for what I’m proposing. Three colors to indicate your state. For example, green, would indicate to me you are fine. Yellow, that you are alright but that I should proceed cautiously, and then red, which would indicate-”

“Stop.” said Will quietly. He shifted again, beginning to feel the bite of the pillar’s ridges in his shoulder; the growing pain seemed to urge him to make his decision. “Can I trust you Dr. Lecter?” asked Will, making a point of meeting Hannibal’s eyes.

“Would you be here if you felt you could not?” Asked Hannibal, raising his eyebrows, a look of curiosity on his face, the shadows of the room, shrouding his features. 

\---

Will clicked his teeth together at that. Hannibal had a point, like always. “Ok… I consent.” he said quietly, shifting awkwardly, feeling more exposed than ever before, now that the words were out there. 

Hannibal smiled then and got up, “Please follow me Will, I have a room far better suited to the new situation we find ourselves in.” He began moving off down towards the hall, pausing for a moment to turn to Will and offer him his hand.

Will had followed but stopped to stare at Hannibal’s hand being held out to him. It felt parental, and Will didn’t like that. What Hannibal was about to do to him, what _he_ had consented to be done to him was not innocent in nature and he was not a child. He ignored the hand, raising an eyebrow at Hannibal who recovered the rejection by elegantly gesturing towards the hallway.

They made their way down, passing the kitchen, the den, a shut door Will assumed was Hannibal’s bedroom, past a bathroom and down to the last door on the right. Hannibal opened it. Inside, the floor was an exposed concrete. 

It would have felt incredibly cold compared to the rest of Hannibal’s home if not for the canvases in the corner and the warm rows of lights around the room. In the middle of the far wall, next to a old trunk sat an elegant phonograph, a light spotlighting it in a soft orange hue. The walls were a deep emerald green, as regal as the blue in Hannibal’s dinning room and the red wall in the office. 

\---

There was a wooden chair in one corner. Hannibal went to it and picked it up, moving it to the middle of the room. Will was looking about in a manner that suggested he was trying to determine what this room was for. If Will knew the true purpose of this room, he’d become afraid. Hannibal hadn’t prepared him enough yet to tell him this is where he gutted the bodies. He wasn’t mentally destroyed enough to accept why there was a drain in the middle of the floor, or why there was the faint scent of bleach in the room, why there were hooks along the wall.

No Will wasn’t ready yet to know the truth. 

“Please strip down Will, you can leave your undergarments on.” said Hannibal, moving past Will to the trunk. He knelt down and opened it, shuffling it’s contents to find what he was seeking.

Will just stood there, staring at him and when Hannibal glanced back at him, after not hearing Will move, he frowned, “Please Will, in order to give you the release you need, I must be able to contact your skin.” a twitch moved over Will’s mouth then he dropped his eyes away and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Hannibal smiled slightly to himself and turned back to the trunk, pulling out a couple items, organizing them on the top of the trunk. He selected his first tool and made his way to Will, who was now completely undressed, with the exception of his boxer shorts.

Hannibal presented what he was holding. The soft, slick, black fabric slide easily through his hand as he lifted his other, carefully removing Will’s glasses. The young man didn’t fight him, only flinched back from his hand momentarily.

When Will was free of his eyeglasses Hannibal guided him back to the chair, pushing him down into it gently. “I’m going to blindfold you now Will. While I do that I want you to tell me your safe words.” his voice was smooth, deceptively so as Hannibal was still feeling incredibly aroused by the level of power he was gaining over Will in this moment, as he raised the black satin to his eyes, tying the blindfold, Will spoke in a shaky, unsure voice.

\---

“Green, i’m fine. Yellow, slow down. Red, stop.” he repeated quietly as his sight was stolen from him under Hannibal’s skilled hands and the world went black.

Will felt like time was ticking away and slowly the voices and cries of murderers and dead people clawed there way through his mind, awakened by the darkness. The killers breathed their insane reasoning into him, the victims left their fear. They left an itch in his mind that he just couldn’t distract from. 

He was vaguely aware of his wrists being bound down to the arms of the chair. He flexed his left hand, felt the smooth surface of the varnished wood. He tugged his right wrist up, it was caught tight.

He thought of the guy they caught, Will caught (as Jack had said), a few weeks ago. A man who had been catching girls, luring them back and taking them to be his pets. Tying them up. Tying them down. 

He had felt so powerful.

Like a God caring for his children. 

Did Hannibal feel powerful right now?

He felt the claws digging into the vulnerable bits of his sanity, criminals pulling their way out of the dark corners of his mind. He could taste the blood in his mouth, smell it in the air, he felt the sickening power the killers felt as they took control of their victims. 

“w...wil…..” He breathed sharply, twitching. There was Hobbs, so in control, up until the very moment when he wasn’t. Then there was the Copycat… running around, _he feels like a God, flicking away pests and doing it in such a way as to blatantly state “I can do better.” He feels powerful..._ “WILL.”

He felt the claws in his mind release suddenly and he felt a hand on his face, a warmth in front of him. “I’m ok…” he said quietly and then shook his head, remembering the rules of this exercise, “Um.. green.” The hand stayed a moment longer then slowly drew away, as did Hannibal’s warm body.

“Then let us begin.” 

\---------

Hannibal made his way back to the trunk, selecting his first tool to use with Will. He figured they would start simply, he chose a switch. 

He picked his way back to Will quietly, having removed his shoes, his socked feet silenced on the cool cement floor. He stopped before Will, observing him. So beautiful there, bound to the chair, in the middle of the killing floor. 

How easy it would be to simply slit Will’s throat and watch him bleed. 

He cleared his throat, clearing away the thought as well as warning Will he was about to begin. The first strike was always the hardest. It was always difficult to go from a state of passiveness to a state of aggression, but Hannibal knew each strike after this first would be fueled by his growing sadistic pleasure, making it easier and easier. 

He struck Will’s thigh first. A rather rude series of curses left the man’s mouth, along with a soft cry of pain. Hannibal didn’t wait long, he continued to strike him, watching the twitches of Will’s muscles as they danced under the pain.

\---------

The first hit hurt, as did the ones that followed, but with them came a washing sensation, clearing his mind, chasing out the clawed things that grabbed at his vulnerable sanity. He felt them fleeing away, chased back into their corners by Hannibal’s steady hand. 

It went on and on, but after the first twenty or so hits, his mind was clear and all the anguish he felt, sharing his headspace with countless killers, was gone. He felt like he was alone, well almost, he was alone with Hannibal. His guide through this treatment, this therapy. 

The strikes stopped then and after a moment he felt Hannibal’s warm hand cup his cheek, tilting his head up. He complied. That hand then gently lowered itself, touching the red marks blooming along his chest. “Will?” asked Hannibal quietly, Will figured he was only a foot away from his face.

“Green, i’m good. Don’t stop…” he muttered the last bit, feeling ashamed, but it had come out before he could stop it, so he followed it through. He hated that he was feeling so good, that there was an undeniable ache forming between his legs, which had been put there through physical punishment by a man who was supposed to be his sort-of psychiatrist. 

But yet, he could not deny it was working. His mind was clear and quiet. He felt grounded. 

He felt the thought though, twitching under his tongue. 

He felt like he had to ask the question, even though he knew the answer.

“Do you feel powerful, Doctor Lecter?”

\---------------------------------------------

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered across Will’s exposed skin, lapping up the spread of red wets forming across his body, dancing their way up his flesh till they came to rest on the black fabric across Will’s eyes, his words vibrating softly in the room, hanging in the air like a final scream.

He considered the question. He could tell Will, how he not only felt powerful, but he felt like God. He could tell him how seeing Will there, at the mercy of his hand, yet adoring every moment of the pain, fed his hungry mind and filled him with warmth and pleasure. 

He chose to say nothing. He left the question hanging there, dying in the air, as though it had never been asked, and made his way back to the trunk, taking out a knife. The blade was sheathed in a soft deer hide that was smooth to the touch, the handle of the blade made from the base of an antler. It had been gifted to him along with the dreamcatcher in the office. It had been intended, he was sure, to be displayed, but it had learned a new purpose during it’s time with Hannibal. 

The first cut was careful, with a precision reminiscent of his time as a surgeon. A short, shallow slice across Will’s shoulder which wrung a cry out of the man that sang out with such animalistic pain that a shudder raced up Hannibal’s spine and raised the hair on his arms. His mind tumbled into a shroud of righteousness as the drops of blood dripped from the blade onto Will’s skin and he nearly forgot to check on Will’s well being. 

“Color, Will?” he lifted the knife away and positioned it to cut into Will’s thigh, pausing over the flesh to wait for confirmation. Graham’s breath was shaky and harsh for a moment as he gathered himself, clearing the scream from his throat when Hannibal spoke.

“Yeah good, green… Maybe more of a chartreuse.” he said with a nervous laugh. Hannibal’s lips twitched into an amused smile, relaxing a moment to give Will a bit more time to continue. During this time Hannibal took advantage of Will’s blindness to look at his body, truly taking in the beauty of his lashed, abused skin, now accented with his own blood creeping down his arm. A wet patch had also formed across his boxer’s, and Will’s erection strained against the fabric. 

Hannibal considered for a moment, then set his knife aside, kneeling down in front of Will. He moved his hands methodically to the man’s hips, taking the fabric of his boxer’s in his fingers. “Lift you’re hips Will.” He instructed, but Graham sat firmly in his seat, shaking his head, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You’re reaction to the treatment is nothing to be ashamed of. You would find you feel much more relaxed naked.” He assured, his eyes set on Will’s face. The man bit his lip, working the skin between his teeth before lifting his hips up.

Hannibal slide Will’s underwear down quickly and with ease, folding the damp fabric up and placing it under the chair. He allowed himself then to once again admire the man before him, the image, the design, now completely exposed for Hannibal to see. 

He allowed himself to smile, pleased as he lifted up the knife once more, positioning and pressing it into the skin of Will’s thigh, slipping the blade through the flesh, stopping just short of the muscle beneath. Will cried out again, a mix between utter pain and painful pleasure. Hannibal watched with fascination as Will’s cock twitched, flexing as pre-cum beaded at the slit, slowly, mesmerizingly slipping down his length. He became sharply aware of the fact that his mouth had just flooded with saliva, nervously swallowing as he lifted the blade up, tilting it to drip some of Will’s blood onto his glands, mixing his fluids in an arousing little cocktail, that was testing all of Hannibal’s strength not to lick up right then and there. 

The urge to perform fellatio on Will’s cock was heightened when Will gasped out as the blood dripped onto him. “Oh god is that…?” he stopped short, obviously coming to his own conclusion as Hannibal stopped the blood from dropping, moving the blade to Will’s other thigh, eagerly slicing in. Flesh gave way to muscle and the blood bloomed in the open slit of Will’s skin, eliciting another cry, this one more pleasure than pain. His cock twitching eagerly, pre-cum now sipping freely down his shaft. 

Hannibal couldn’t stand it any more, he stood up, making his way to the trunk he cleaned Will’s blood off the blade and sheathed it, making his way back to Will. He untied his wrists from the chair, a soft groan of confusion leaving the man’s lips, quietly brushed aside as Hannibal fastened his wrists together with the straps, kneeling back down in front of Will.

With his eyes cast sideways to watch Will’s face he leaned forward, dragging his tongue across the cut on his shoulder, lapping at the sweet, metallic blood. Will let out a staggered breath. “Doctor…. doctor Lector…?” He stuttered out, turning his head towards Hannibal. 

The good doctor raised his left hand, wrapping it lightly around Will’s shaft, slipping his palm over the glans teasingly as his flicked his tongue over the wound against, pausing to let his voice slip into Will’s ear, using a deep tone he reserved for persuasion. “Would you like me to stop Will?” 

“...Can I trust you?” 

It didn’t feel like a question, but Hannibal answered anyways, letting his voice slip into Will’s mind, hoping to gently tear it apart at the seams, like an infectious thought. 

“Have I ever given you a reason not to?” 

Will shook head. “N-no…. _please..._ ” He begged softly, letting his head fall forward, his jaw clenched, his skin twitching, his cock pulsing in Hannibal’s light grip.

With consent Hannibal leaned back to lap at the wound again, applying significant pressure to the exposed muscle, causing Will to whine and cry, while his hand gently stroked his erection, slipping his palm over the head on the upstroke, smearing his pre-cum across the glands, resulting is a cry of pleasure to leave Will each time. 

Hannibal felt his own erection twitching in his suit pants. He wondered how far Will would let this go. They had already gone running past professional boundaries. Hannibal smiled to himself, letting a plan design itself in his mind as he settled down onto his knees, guiding Will’s cock to his lips, devouring him in a single slide. 

“Hannibal!” Will cried out loudly, his bound hands finding their way to Hannibal’s hair and clutching it needly. He didn’t bear down, just clung, so Hannibal let the flutter of rude behavior slide, as he did Will’s cock, slowly bringing him out of his throat, letting his tongue lap at the weeping slit.

Hannibal went down again, developing a slow, purposeful rhythm, letting himself swallow around Will’s cock every time he took him to the root, his mind alive with the soft cries the man above him was emitting. Swooning over how Will sounded when he begged for Hannibal. His professional perspective suggested to him that Will had been harboring some feelings for the doctor for awhile now. He slid his eyes closed and focusing on his work until he felt Will’s cock begin to flex. “Oh god… I‘m going to…” Hannibal pulled off and away sharply, cutting off all stimulus, holding his bound hands away as Will yelped and cried out and then begged Hannibal for release. It was beautiful. 

Hannibal fancied Will’s voice was made for begging as he made his way back to his trunk, taking the knife again and crossing over to Will.  
 “I’m going to guide you into a new position Will. I want you to continue to trust me.” he explained as he took Will’s arm and guided him to stand on shaky legs. Will responded with Hannibal’s name on his lips. The man guided Will down onto the cold floor, the killing floor, on his knees and forearms. 

He was perfect, spread out before Hannibal and he didn’t fight it either, he went down willingly, and held himself there. Hannibal smiled and knelt down behind him, between his spread knees and took the blade to Will’s right shoulder blade, sliding the flesh while he brought his left hand around to Will’s twitching cock, stroking him lightly. 

“Hannibal!” Will cried out sharply, his back relaxing despite the pain in his voice, his ass raising in a perfect display of need. Hannibal smiled, setting the blade down a safe distance away before reaching for his pants, taking himself out with ease. 

He pressed the head of his cock to Will’s hole. The moan that left Will’s throat was positively the most pornographic thing Hannibal had ever had the pleasure of hearing and it drove his own need. He held Will’s hip tightly and pressed into him unceremoniously with purposeful slowness. Will screamed then.

His pain must have been acute, a clashing mix of agony and pleasure as Hannibal sank into Will’s trembling body, taking him dry. “Color Will.” he prompted gently, seductively, his hands gently messaging Will’s hip and cock. 

“G-green. Please don’t stop.” he paused for a moment, his body trembling, his insides twitching around Hannibal’s cock, threatening to milk his orgasm straight out of him. “Please _hurt_ me.” he begged. 

Hannibal was happy to comply, drawing his cock quickly, but with perfect control out of Will’s body, stopping so just the tip of his weeping glands were still inside. Then he thrust back in shortly, sinking only the head of his erection into Will before drawing out sharply. Will cried out loudly, sobbing as Hannibal then thrust back in, tearing him open once more.

Hannibal began a slow, brutal rhythm, thrusting in to the hilt before drawing out to this tips of his gland and then plowing back into Will’s abused body, one hand tight on his hip, the other slowly stroking his cock. Will was a mess of moans and begs as Hannibal took him roughly on the concrete floor. 

“How do you feel Will? Is your headspace clear?” he asked, his voice gone rough and husky from arousal as his control began to fall apart, his thrusts becoming quicker and sharper. 

“Oh god.” Will cried out as Hannibal thrust in again. “It’s quiet.” He pushed himself back to meet Hannibal's next thrust, causing the older male to grunt uncharacteristically. “I feel like- every things clearer.” he panted out, pushing back again, setting a rhythm of meeting Hannibal’s erratic thrusts. 

Hannibal was close. Will was both falling apart yet solidifying underneath him. Begging him for more while his mind cleared itself of nightmares, making room for Hannibal to fill and consume him. Hannibal saw his future and felt certain it had Will at his side, all he needed to do was fill his mind with his thoughts, his purpose, his design. 

He dropped his hand away from Will’s cock, taking his hips with both hands as he sunk deep, pulling Will back to meet him, his breath sharp and quick as he pumped his seed into Will’s needy body, holding his there firmly till his cock had stopped twitching. Then he pulled out fully, despite Will’s cry at the loss, despite the way his abused hole twitched at the sudden absence of Hannibal’s cock. His eyes danced over Will’s hole, dripping with Hannibal’s cum, the fluid slowly rolled down Will’s balls, a soft red tinge from the blood. 

He carefully tucked himself back into his pants and then rolled Will over onto his back with ease, leaning down, his lips close to the man’s flexing erection, his hand taking him tightly.

“Come apart for me Will. I will help put you back together.” He growled, his hand pumping him slowly before he slipped the head of Will’s dick into his mouth, his spare hand finding his thigh. He pressed his thumb firmly into the slash there, working it open and blooming new blood. 

Will screamed. 

“HANNIBAL!” 

His cock flexed and Hannibal could feel the rush of his release work it’s way under his tongue, from the root up and slide him nearly out, pressing only his glands to his tongue. Will’s orgasm was torn out of him, his cum spilling over Hannibal’s greedy tongue, flooding him with Will’s taste. He savored every drop. 

When Will had finished Hannibal slipped him out of his mouth, leaning up, he pressed his lips firmly to Will’s, biting his bottom lip sharply. Will responded by opening his mouth and Hannibal plunged in his tongue, sharing with Will the taste of his own blood mixed with his cum. For a moment Will was stiff, then he relaxed into Hannibal’s assault, allowing himself to be kissed roughly.

Hannibal slipped his hand under Will’s head, removing the blindfold, and he was staring intensely into Will’s eyes, their gaze locked.  
Hannibal pulled back then. He knew, could see it in the way Will was looking at him, that he was alone now in his head. Now was the moment Hannibal needed to slip in, to lock in his claws and make a home of Will’s mind. He thought of the cooler in the fridge with the heart and lunges of the rude waitress he’d harvested last night, fresh and unmistakably human. 

“Will, would you like to stay for dinner? I regret to say I have nothing ready, but I could use your help preparing a meal.” He purred as he untied Will’s hands and watched him find and put back on his underwear. “Perhaps a nice Bopis?”

Will found his glassed and put them on, glancing over at Hannibal with a look of calm on his features, accented with a smile. “Sure, I’d like that.”

Hannibal guided Will from his slaughter room, gesturing to the kitchen. As Will walked in, Hannibal smiled confidently to himself. It was time to fill Will with _his_ thoughts, his reasons, his beliefs, and he knew this would be the last time Will ever empathized with a killer. This was what months of conditioning had been leading up to. This moment, right here, where he ripped apart Will’s mind, and patched it with the thoughts of the Chesapeake Ripper.

This, was his design. 

\----------------------------------------


End file.
